The One You Wanted
by Sam4
Summary: One story, two versions. It only takes a little switch...


Title: The One You Wanted  
Author: Sam  
Disclaimer: I don't own them - I merely borrow them when I'm bored.  
Spoilers: None  
Summary: One story, two versions. It only takes a little switch...  
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I settle down into the chair beside your bed. The nurses have learned to leave my pillow where it is, knowing that I always return the next day to take up the same position. My back can only take so much hard plastic now, with my due date not even three weeks away.  
  
"Three weeks," I murmur, studying your face critically for any sign of a change from its usual pale stillness. They warned me from the beginning, not to expect any miracles - especially with all you've already gone through. "You can hang on that long. Or even better, open your eyes right now and you won't have to miss the big day," I smile through the tears.   
  
Crying has become a way of life recently. Whether it's hormones or recent events taking their toll on my emotions, I can cry at the drop of a hat. That damn Huggies commercial sends me into hysterics, let alone coming to visit you every day.   
  
"I miss you," I whisper, and immediately berate myself for saying the words. I'm talking like you're already gone, but you're far from it. I can feel your heart beating, see your chest rise and fall with each breath, and I wonder if this is why I'm having a hard time buying into the poor prognosis you've been given. Maybe I'm just too stubborn to give up on you. Or maybe I'm hoping, more than anything, that you'll realize you have more important business to attend to here on Earth - being a father to your child.  
  
* * *  
I hear babies cry and I watch them grow  
They'll learn much more than we'll know  
* * *  
  
"I need you. I can't do this alone. You've beaten the odds once before," I sniff, reaching out to gently stroke your cheek. "I know you can do it again."  
  
For no apparent reason, I feel a sudden flush of heat in my cheeks. I'm angry - angry at a memory.   
  
"Why didn't you tell me sooner? Admit what you were feeling to me - you admitted it so readily to Susan," I point out, grinning a little as I imagine your response. "Of course she told me." The time when I was left in the dark about you was valuable time wasted - time we could have been spending together...  
  
I examine the tiny creases in your forehead and shake my head in amusement. Even comatose, your face is a perpetual portrait of worry.   
  
"If it's any reassurance, I ate three square meals today and took my vitamins."   
  
That had been a different story a week ago when you were admitted. I wanted to spend every waking moment at your side, but I soon realized the lack of sleep and regular meals wasn't any good for me or the baby. Coming to my senses (and knowing you'd throw a fit if you were conscious to do so), I limited my visits to a few hours at night - to sit with you, talk to you. It was our time alone, together. Just like it had been at home every night...  
  
"Oh!" I squeak softly in surprise and quickly put a hand to my stomach. With a smile and some effort, I get up from the chair to perch on the side of your bed. Gently picking up your hand, I rest it over the spot on my swollen belly, placing my hands over yours.   
  
"Feel it?" I ask, never expecting, but always hoping for an answer. The baby flutters under our touch and I glance up at your face, willing the connection to trigger something in you...anything. I did go to medical school. I know the chances of this happening are slim to none, but I've temporarily thrown my training aside and put all my trust into anything that will bring you back to me.  
  
Sighing softly, my eyes wander back down to our hands and the enormity of the situation begins to sink in for me. More tears ensue. I realize how different things were the first time I was pregnant. So much has changed since then...  
  
"I love you."  
  
I raise your hand to my mouth, softly kissing your knuckles.   
  
"Abby? It's late..." I turn my head toward the doorway, pursing my lips and nodding in silent acknowledgement.  
  
I slip off the bed, as gracefully as possible, and lean down over you as I'm about to leave. My lips linger over your cheekbone, finally planting one last, meaningful kiss.  
  
"Good night, John."  
* * *  
I see friends shaking hands saying how do you do  
They're really saying I...I love you. 


End file.
